The Bitter End
by Jezek10
Summary: As the arc of the blade sliced through the air, aiming at my defenseless back, I couldn't help but wonder how I had gotten to this point. I figured it came down to three things. Simple, stupid mistakes. You'd think that the daughter of Gale and Dewey Riley would be better equipped to overcome Ghostface. One-Shot. Warning: Graphic violence ahead.


_Author's Note: This was written long before Scream 4 was even announced to be a movie. So, it doesn't go along with the Saga, making it AU. And, on top of that, I wrote it when I was 14, so please keep in mind that it is totally unrealistic and perhaps a bit stupid. However, at the time I was proud of it and I don't have anything else to do with this. Regardless, let me know what you think by hitting that little button that says "review" at the bottom. Even if it's just to tell me how bad it was. _

_Warning: This is a borderline M fanfic due to graphic violence, gore and a bit of cussing. But what do you expect from a Scream story? _

**I don't own the Scream Franchise... only this scenario. **

The emotionless white mask seemed to smile satisfyingly down at me  
before bringing the knife down on my defenseless back. As the arc of  
the blade sliced through the air, I couldn't help but wonder how I had  
gotten to this point. I figured it came down to three simple things.

One: I was home alone during the midst of the anniversary of the  
infamous Woodsboro murders while my parents were out of town, and  
presumably on their way home.

Two: When I had gotten the infamous call from the killer, I had been  
stupid enough to engage in conversation with him, not taking it very  
seriously because there was no way I could die.

Three: When the bastard had started asking me horror trivia questions,  
I had hung up and called my friend Emma. The phone was still on the  
line, strewn across the floor only a few feet from my location. Yes, I  
had called a friend. Not the police. What was I thinking?

Four (Hm, I guess there are four reasons): Instead of hiding or  
running away like a smart person, I had lurked the shadows for the  
killer. Yes, I had GONE LOOKING for the killer. God was I asking for  
trouble.

You'd think the daughter of two infamous survivors, Gale and Dewey  
Riley, would be better equipped to overcome Ghostface.

The knife burying itself between my shoulder blades broke me out of my  
thought as it scraped the bone, making a deep slice in my backside. By  
that point, the pain was too intense for me not to scream.

My scream pierced my own ears as the killer struck the knife through  
my side over and over again, twisting the blade, gouging a crater into  
my oblique. He jerked me around to face him, wrapping an arm around me  
to pull my abdomen closer to his body. I had nothing more to face than  
the ghostly mask, captured in a ghastly facade of a scream. He  
examined his handiwork with a sense of pride, watching the blood drain  
from me onto the cream carpet beneath. He gripped his knife a little  
tighter and with a small cry of protest, another stab was made into my  
side. He then released me and I flopped to the floor like a doughy  
pancake. I seemed to just squirm there for a while, forcing myself to  
inch closer to the phone still on the line with Emma.

"Tatum?!" Emma screeched over the phone, loud enough to hear. "Shit!  
I'm calling the police!" The line went dead.

My phone screen lighted up at the disconnection and read 10:45, which  
meant mom and dad should have been home by now. But why did I even  
bother counting on their punctuality? Anytime my mother was involved,  
you could forget about ever being on time. But what did it matter? By  
the time anyone got here I would be dead.

The killer lurched for the phone and drug me by my hair through the  
door to the backyard. Struggling the whole way, I continued to yell  
and scream for help. I might be dying, but I wouldn't go down without  
a fight. I wasn't one of those typical horror movie sitting targets.  
At least not after I had gotten a few stabs in me. The masked killer  
dug his knife into my throat, making thin trickles of blood creep out  
of my neck to silence me. Feeling blood trickling from my mouth, I  
decided to observe where he was taking me. It didn't take long to  
figure it out.

He was dragging me to the fence shielding my home from a ghastly sharp  
cliff, dropping into a wide spread forest, making a plan to throw me  
over it. I instantly began panic mode. I didn't mind bleeding to  
death, but falling to death, crashing through unknown obstacles,  
breaking bones along the way? No thank you! I fought dirty, kicking  
and scratching as I faded sparingly into unconsciousness.

Finally, the killer knocked me upside the head with the butt of his  
knife, sending my head swimming. My body screamed with absolute pain.  
Burning in the flames of hell couldn't have felt any worse. Lying on  
the blood stained grass, feeling my insides slide down my body like a  
steady river, trying hard to concentrate, the killer whipped out my  
phone and started dialing. I couldn't be sure who he was calling, but  
I had a pretty good idea. Ghostface pulled out what looked to be a  
small metal circle, but I could have been hallucinating.

"Hello?" a man said on the other line. I knew who it was the moment I  
heard him and instantly thought "Shit! Don't bring THEM into this!"  
But what was I expecting? My death was always planned to be a message.  
And the killer wanted to enjoy my reaction to this piece of the show  
just as much as he wanted to enjoy my parents' reaction: hence the  
speakerphone.

"Dad?" the ghostfaced man mimicked my voice perfectly with the help of  
a voice changer, making me shiver at how much it sounded like me.  
"You're supposed to be back by now. How much longer until you and mom  
are home?"

"Don't worry we're getting close," he confirmed.

"Getting close?... you're not even close," the killer copied my  
sarcastic tone, of which I used a lot, almost perfectly.

"Tatum, we'll get there as soon as we can," Dad sighed. "The traffic  
is awful. 45 minutes tops. Ok?"

"Well hurry, and you might get to see your daughter take her last  
breaths!" the killer's voice shifted from copying my innocent tone to  
the sinister, cold, heartless voice he had used in a phone call to me  
not any more than 10 minutes ago. I could just see the image of my  
father's face drain from his normal peachy rosy color to a pale white.

"Who the hell is this?" my father yelled, taking on a brave yet  
terrified tone.

"Dewey, what's wrong?" I heard my mom in the background, starting to  
get concerned, which she rarely does.

I don't know if it was the anger of being tormented, or the fact that  
my parents would have to overcome the same scenario once again, all  
because of me, that drove me on, but whatever it was encouraged me to  
begin to crawl to our outside patio kitchen, hoping to find some form  
of a weapon there. The damn idiot didn't even notice me as I crept my  
way closer and closer to the bar, biting my lip to not scream aloud in  
sheer pain. It amazed me that even through the grass cringing beneath  
my weight, making all kinds of unnecessary sounds, the killer hadn't  
noticed me. I craned my neck around to see why he hadn't clued in on  
my escape. Of course, his back was turned as he engaged in a heated  
conversation with my parents. I turned quickly and headed on my way.

Their voices faded away as I approached the bar. Thrusting my arms  
into the intertwining bars of the sides of the bar stools, I  
concentrated on getting up. I must have been so deep in thought as I  
finally pulled myself to my feet because when a knife thrust itself  
into my hand, pinning me to the counter, I was shocked.

"Not so fast Tatum!" the killer mocked me as I gasped and shrieked at  
the new pain awareness, the killer still on the phone. Taking my leg  
and swiping it at the killer's stomach, I howled, "You get the hell  
away from me!"

He chuckled, deflecting my kick with ease. "Tatum, Tatum, Tatum.  
You're just as feisty as your mother," he said well into the phone for  
everyone to hear. This time it was my mother's turn to get angry.

"You fucking bastard!" she exclaimed. "I swear if you hurt her it will  
be the last thing you do before I cut you apart bit by bit." It  
surprised me how acrimoniously she reacted to my being hurt. I mean, I  
knew she could be a bitch about anything, and I knew she cared about  
me, even if she rarely showed it, but it was weird hearing her react  
in the way she did. (Funny the things you notice when you're dancing  
on the edge of death.)

The killer chuckled sadistically, wrapping his gloved fingers around  
the knife pinning my palm to the countertop. "Too late," he whispered  
menacingly into the phone, whipping the knife out of my flesh and into  
my upper shoulder in one quick movement. I screeched in pain and the  
killer forced the phone next to my mouth to capture my death cries.

"TATUM? Goddammit! Dewey drive faster!" my mother commanded. Although  
my mind was spinning endlessly, I quickly ripped the knife out of my  
shoulder and catapulted it towards the killer, gaining malice  
intentions. Hoping to catch him off guard, my expectations were short  
lived. Before I could pierce his skin, the killer cupped my wrist,  
twisted it sharply to make me drop the weapon, shoved me over to the  
outside gas stove and turned the knob, flaring the oven to life as it  
made a small explosion.

The killer clawed my wrist and stuck it over the fire, letting the  
flames lick my skin as I struggled to get away. I shrieked as my skin  
started to blister and raw from the heat.

"Now, now, now!" the killer chided. "One more stunt like that, and  
this," he pulled my wrist closer to the heart of the flame, "will be  
your face."

Through gritted teeth, I muttered sarcastically, "Thanks for the  
warning but," I paused for dramatic effect, blood slipping out of my  
mouth as my eyes glared into the openings of the mask. "I'll take my  
chances," I whispered in a defiant whisper.

In one quick motion, I slid my hand from his and whipped it away from  
his grasp, missing it only by inches. As he lunged for me, I snatched  
the phone from the countertop and staggered away, grasping my side  
with one arm, applying as much pressure to it as I could, as if  
willing the pouring blood to circulate.

My only thought was getting to the door. I could hear the killer  
scramble for his dagger as I reached the door with miraculous speed. I  
threw the door open, leaped inside and slammed it shut, locking it  
behind me. Still clutching the phone, screaming and shrieking  
traveling through the phone to my ears, I tried to clear my head and  
remain calm. Pounding on the door had begun quickly after I had  
slammed it shut, and now it became more desperate and violent. "Fuck  
you!" I screamed and the pounding instantly stopped. As my brain was  
going on a whirlwind of "Oh crap get out of here!" thoughts, I  
scrambled up the stairs of our multi- million dollar home and wound my  
way through the maze of hallways upstairs.

My plans started formulating while I was running and it came to me  
that I had been an idiot and had followed one of the biggest horror  
movie clichés of all time. I had run up the stairs instead of out the  
front door. All my thoughts collapsed as I came to realization that  
where I needed to be was downstairs instead of up. God, why was I so  
stupid? How many mistakes had I made since the phone call? All my  
ideas were falling apart; then it occurred to me that my parents  
wouldn't be home for another hour. I thought to myself that maybe I  
should stick it out and ride it out till they got home, but that still  
seemed kind of hopeless. I argued with my conscience, trying to figure  
out if I should hide or make a run for it. I wasn't sure if I had the  
strength to run, but who knew? I had gotten this far. I still felt the  
phone in my hands and decided I was far enough into the house to speak  
to my parents. Maybe they could shed some light on the subject.

"Mom? Dad?" I whimpered, trying to find a decent hiding spot.

"Tatum?" It was my dad, Dewey Riley. "Is that really you?" I had to  
stifle a small laugh. Even through shitty situations like this, he  
would sound so childlike and idiotic.

"Dad," I started sternly, "I screwed up. Bad. I'm so sorry! I egged  
him on! I didn't know it was real," I finished changing attitudes in a  
snap, tears streaming from my eyes like Niagara Falls.

"It's ok! It's ok! You didn't know! I'm so sorry! We should be there  
with you! We never should have left," he exclaimed, crying.

"Here's the big question... What are her injuries?" my mother asked  
in the background in a steely voice. Leave it to Gale Weathers to  
avoid emotion.

"Tatum, how hurt are you? You're ok aren't you?" Dad asked seriously.  
What kind of a question was that? Had they heard me screaming or not?  
As if reading my thoughts, my mother yelled in the background, "What  
kind of fucking question is that?!" I have to say that made me calm  
down a bit as a small laugh escaped my throat.

I began to calm down a considerable amount. I even began thinking  
positively, focused solely on the idea of survival. The killer was  
outside, still trying to find a way in, and I was alive so far. Things  
were looking my way. I could get out of this!

That's when in the distance I heard an ear shattering crash of glass,  
sounding just like a wreck in an action movie.

My heart dropped. "I won't be ok for long. Oh shit," I instantly  
felt my adrenaline start pumping. I started shaking uncontrollably.  
Tears started rolling down my cheeks. I felt a wave of head rushes roll  
through my brain and I had to grasp the side of a wall entrance to  
steady myself. I had never cracked like this before, and it pained me  
to think that I might have finally found a weakness.

"What?" Dad asked, starting to sound worried again.

"He's in the house!" I urgently whispered. The ledge I was gripping  
onto was the entrance to my mom's office. This was where she had  
written all of her follow up novels after her first definitive book  
"The Woodsboro Murders." It was a very formally decorated room, with  
a sort of retro chic bourgeois to it. The appeal and focus of the  
whole room was a widely spread window along the back wall. Outside,  
there was a vast platform of roof, connecting to more and more roof  
pieces. As urgent as the situation was, I didn't really want to use  
this interesting architecture as my escape. I didn't have much time or  
many choices so...

"Guess I found my hiding spot," I mumbled into the phone, limping my  
way to the window.

"Tatum!" my father used a stern voice as I quietly unlatched the  
window. "Get out of the house! Don't stay inside!"

"Who said anything about staying inside?" I whispered, opening the  
window. I momentarily hesitated. "Dad," I started, "and mom too," I  
added. "I just want to say if I don't make it out of this; I want you  
two to know I love you. So much." Tears began flowing freely down my  
cheeks once again and my voice cracked. "And I'm so sorry about all  
the crap I've put you through the past couple of years. I know you  
don't deserve it. I haven't shown enough gratitude and affection  
towards you guys and it kills me that I might never see your faces  
again. I... I've never said it enough but I love you. You're the best  
parents I could have ever received." I sighed wearily. "Just want you  
to know that." With that, I quickly hung up the phone and wiped away  
tears and snot. I didn't have the time nor the heart to hear their  
responses. I didn't want to have to deal with any more emotional  
burdens than I already had.

Taking into account the matter at hand, I thought through the whole  
scenario. I knew it would hurt like hell to climb through the opening,  
so I shoved the phone between my teeth to give myself a scapegoat to  
screaming. Unlatching the window meticulously and painfully, little by  
little, I squirmed my way to the roof, biting the phone like a vampire  
making his first kill the whole way. Pulling my legs through the  
window last, I quietly closed the window and decided what to do next.  
There was a portion of the roof slanting upwards to my left side. It  
continued to climb upwards to the tip of the house. As risky as it  
was, I decided to climb it to get out of harm's way. (Ha ironic right?)

As I climbed, I realized how profusely my palm was bleeding. It made  
me sick just looking at it. Veins had popped out of place and on top  
of that, gravel on the roof was cramming its way into the hole the  
killer had created. Deciding to stop and sit, I ripped off a piece of  
my shirt sleeve to wrap around the wound. After it was wrapped  
securely, I continued on my way, ascending further and further up.

The phone vibrated in my mouth and made me jump in shock. Who in the  
world was calling? Bringing my climb to a brief halt, I glanced at the  
phone's caller ID and saw that my dad was calling back from his cell.  
I momentarily contemplated as to whether or not I should attempt to  
answer it. I mean, I'd already made my emotional goodbye. But I  
decided "what the hell?" Pressing the connect button, I tried  
balancing the phone on my shoulders and climbing at the same time.  
But, being as uncoordinated as I was in addition to the condition I  
was in, the phone dropped from my shoulder and slid down one of the  
many inclines of the house. It catapulted to the backyard, landing  
softly on the grass.

"Oh shit!" I mouthed. I crept to the side of the roof to look at the  
phone's position, when a woman walked by it and cautiously picked it  
up. From this far up I could tell who it was. She had been in my life  
since the day I was born. It was Sidney Prescott! I felt as if a huge  
weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I was about to scream bloody  
murder (literally) to get her attention and help, when something  
inside told me to keep quiet. I'd always admired Sidney. She was  
pretty and carried herself well. She had been through hell in a  
hand basket but always pulled through tough times. My parents and her  
had stayed in contact and saw each other quite frequently; even  
through the whole mass murders they had encountered starting back 20  
years ago. I'd always trusted her. She was like a second mom to me.  
Sometimes an even better role model than my own mom.

While stuck in a daydreaming state, hailing the almighty Sidney, the  
praise came to a screeching halt when I saw that the black cloak the  
infamous ghostface killer wore was sitting snugly on her body. What  
the..? I also caught the glimmer of a knife in her hand, with (no  
doubt) my blood caked on it. Oh. My. God. Sidney grabbed the phone,  
and pushed it up against her ear.

"Listen Dewdrop and Miss Weathers, your daughter can't get away. And  
when I find her, I'll mutilate her just like everyone I've ever known  
has been! You'll finally feel the pain I've felt for the past 20 years!"

A small gasp escaped my mouth at the sickening confirmation of what I  
had feared. My head spun. I could feel bile and vomit building in my  
stomach. She'd gone insane! Sidney dropped the phone and crushed it  
like a bug with her foot. I ducked out of her view and continued  
heading up to the top of the house. I was more determined to climb  
this mountain of a rooftop, navigate my way to the front of the house  
(to catch my parents' attention when they finally pulled up), all the  
while trying to keep as quiet as a mouse. As I climbed, I tried to  
sort out this horrific situation.

What had happened to Sidney? She'd been through some pretty fucked up  
shit in her lifetime. And everyone knew it. She had endured her hand  
of bad happenings pretty well. Well, it had seemed that way at least.  
How long had she been planning this? Did Sidney kill all the other  
victims of the recent murders? How could she do such a thing? It made  
me sick thinking about it, but Sidney had finally snapped. Now, as I  
eased my way down the front of the rooftop, I realized it would never  
end until Sidney was dead. I started having thoughts of putting her  
out of her misery myself. But I was neither in the condition nor had  
the heart to go and commit something like that.

I had a bad feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. It wouldn't end  
if Sidney died. It would only end after the original trio died. That  
included my parents... My heart was thudding irrationally. I didn't  
give a care if I died, as long as it was in my family's place. If all  
three of us died, my death would be for nothing. I found a small  
crevice to sit myself in near the front of the house, where I huddled  
and shivered, partly from the coldness, partly from lack of blood. I  
never realized how bad off I was until I had stopped moving. My body  
pounded and felt like it was on fire. My head felt like it weighed a  
ton. Blood and tears mixed on my face as my breathing became raspy. As  
much as it pissed me off, I knew I'd better start making peace with  
what many people called God. And as much as I hated it, if no one  
showed up, not only would I be dead, but no one would be able to find  
my lifeless body. The wind whipped my face, giving me a mild case of  
wind burn. One new pain after another pounded into my body, and after  
a while everything became numb. I felt woozy and in a dream-like state  
as my eyes became heavy and started slipping into sleep. Yes, it  
occurred to me that there was a very likely chance that I would never  
wake up. And yes, I realized that that meant I might never see anyone  
ever again, but I didn't care. Death was knocking at the door, and I  
was letting it in. I let out a small smile as I slipped into eternal  
unconsciousness, thinking about the ridiculous image of Ghostface  
knocking on the door instead of breaking in.

Sometime later...

A small shake on my shoulder and the soft whisper of my name being  
called awakened me. At first I was afraid to open my eyes, but decided  
it couldn't get any worse. I slowly peeked out from behind my eyelids  
and saw a dark shadow staring right at me. Reacting on instinct, I  
threw a pathetic punch at whoever it was. The person deflected it with  
ease and chuckled.

"Who are you?" I shouted with much more confidence than I felt.

"Tatum, calm down," the man whispered gently. "I'm Mark Kincaid.  
You've met me a few times. I know your parents," he said as he moved  
more into the moonlight for me to see him.

"Mark Kincaid as in Detective Kincaid?" I whispered hoarsely, my memory  
jogging to life.

He chuckled. "Yes, as in Detective Kincaid."

"Oh thank god!" I murmured to myself, and I really meant it. Although  
I didn't know much about him, I knew I could trust this man.  
Apparently, he had endured a massacre at the hands of Ghostface in  
Hollywood about 16 years ago, along with my parents and Sidney. After  
that whole ordeal, he had decided to follow in the trio's footsteps  
and settle down from homicides, scandals and suicides, moving to the  
secluded area that I called home. But, not able to keep his heart out  
of detectives work, Kincaid joined the local police squad and dealt  
with the simple, petty crimes of small towns. "Why did you come? How  
did you know I needed help?"

"A friend of yours called the station. Emma I think it was. Said she  
heard you scream through the phone and thought you were in trouble.  
Chief thought it was a prank, but I put two and two together. Tatum  
Riley, anniversary of the murders, better go check it out." He glanced  
up and down my body, his face turning white as he did. "And I'm glad I  
did. Who did this to you Tatum?"

I shivered helplessly at the thought of Sidney trying to kill me. I  
shook my head back and forth over and over, not planning to tell him  
without my parents present. I did NOT want to explain the story twice.  
How would they take it? I couldn't even imagine...

"Where're your parents?" Kincaid changed the subject after clearly  
seeing that I would not answer his question, lifting me up to my feet

"They've been out of town for 5 days," I vaguely answered as a head  
rush blocked my vision although I was clearly opening my eyes.

"Whoa there!" Mark struggled to keep me up as I toppled over. "Take it  
slowly," he advised as he balanced me.

"Detective?" I asked drowsily, part of me thinking that this was a  
dream.

"Yes Tatum?"

"How did you find me?"

"I told you, your friend called the station and-"

"No, no, no." I sighed. "I mean how did you FIND me? Here on the roof?"

"Oh. Well that's easy. There was a trail of blood leading here."

"What?!" I exclaimed, pulling myself away from his supportive grasp.

"There were blood stains on some of the walls, doorknobs and the  
latches leading out Gale's office window. I tell you what; it's  
amazing you made it up here in the condition you're in."

"Well hell!" So much for hiding! If there had been a trail, then how  
could Sidney have missed it? As if on cue, behind a very confused and  
alarmed Mark Kincaid, a black shadow began stalking its way towards us.

"Oh my god!" I instantly started crying hysterically, pointing to the  
figure behind Detective Kincaid. "Watch out!" I screamed at the top of  
my lungs.

Mark Kincaid whipped around just in time to catch the knife from  
wedging its way into his back. He made a weird yelping noise when he  
saw he was staring straight into the face of the alleged Ghostface.

Kincaid kicked and shoved at Ghostface (Sidney) but to my dismay, his  
efforts were short lived. After the brief struggle, Ghostface got the  
better of him and shoved the knife into Kincaid's chest over and over.

"No!" I moaned, gasping uncontrollably, frozen in fear and shock.

I turned away as he screamed out in frustration and pain. I  
stumbled away at top speed, away from my sorrow and ashamedness for  
not helping him, away from the danger, away from the sounds of Kincaid  
being thrown off the roof, away from the awful thud that followed,  
away from the bloody dagger that was calling my name.

In the distance, I distinctly saw a car pulling up through the many  
trees keeping our house obscured. My heart leaped as I continued to  
make my way over to the front of the house. As close as they seemed,  
they still had a mile and a half to drive before they reached our  
home. (We live in the middle of nowhere.) I was so anxious for my  
parents to see me that I almost ran myself right over the edge of the  
house and onto the hard concrete pavement in front of our 4 car  
garage. While I teetered on the ledge of the roof gutter, using what  
was left of my balance to keep myself from falling, I was tackled out  
of the blue by the killer. Falling hard on my back, my head  
whiplashing on the roof floor, I stared straight into the eyes of the  
haunting Ghostface mask. I struggled pathetically, but that didn't  
last very long. The killer raised the knife that Kincaid had just been  
murdered with, still oozing his blood, and prepared to bring it down  
on my heart.

"SIDNEY!" I cried. The killer stopped and cocked his (her) head. That  
seemed to catch her attention so I went on. "Sidney, take off that  
mask. I know it's you under there," I spat defiantly.

After a small deliberation with herself, Sidney ripped the mask across  
her face to reveal herself to me. Her once warm eyes, now cold and  
heartless, sent chills down my spine. "Should have known you'd figure  
it out," she sneered. "You've always had a nosy reporter mentality,  
just like Gale. Tell me Tatum, do you think she'll turn your murder  
into a book as she did to all the other unfortunate sufferers of the  
Woodsboro murders?" she mocked, laughing maniacally. "Or maybe we  
won't give her the chance," she added stroking her knife gently.

This was what I was afraid of. I couldn't stand for anyone else losing  
their lives, especially mom and dad. It was going to end with me.  
Could Sidney be reasoned with? Well, I was about to find out.

"Sidney," I said as sternly as I could. "I'm going to die. That's a  
given. You should be glad to know that I have suffered the past hour  
of my life very painfully-"

"Ha! Playing the sympathy card? How pathetic! Do you really think this  
is about you?" she snorted.

"Please let me finish!" I screamed, exasperated. "I don't care if I  
die! But please, could you fulfill my last request? You owe me that  
much," I finished with so much innocence.

Sidney looked a bit taken aback. I watched as the gleam in her eyes  
flickered and she momentarily turned into the Sidney Prescott I had  
grown up with and respected. "Yeah? What?" she said with no sarcasm,  
her sadistic exterior dissolved.

"It ends with me," I said blankly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, getting defensive.

"No more needless killing after me," I commanded with much more force  
than I felt. "I don't know if you're trying to make a statement with  
this Woodsboro murders number four or what, but it needs to stop!  
Don't hurt anymore of my peers and especially don't hurt Dewey or Gale!"

After that last part Sidney laughed out loud. "You really expect me to  
do that?" Her innocence had completely washed away again. She had her  
knife raised and was preparing to bring it down.

"Can you imagine their dismay of living after I died?" I continued  
desperately, channeling to the inner psycho that had developed in  
Sidney. "They'll want to be dead. And if you kill them, you'll be  
giving them their wish. It would be so much more miserable if you left  
them alive," I tried convincing her, while cringing at the truth to my  
words.

"Or," Sidney started, "I could kill one of them and leave one alive,  
making it even more agonizing for the one that's left. Smart thinking  
Tatum! I was thinking about gutting Gale and leaving Dewey. It would  
be so much more entertaining to leave Dew. He's so much more emotional  
than your mother."

"God dammit Sidney, would you look at yourself? You've turned into a  
heartless, cold psychopath! And you've been through this shit before!"  
I cried, exasperated. Sidney slightly lowered her knife and listened  
as I rambled on and on. "Shouldn't you be more understanding? All I'm  
getting from you is a vibe of a vengeful bitch! What the hell happened  
to you? I refuse to believe you've gone crazy, although it looks like  
you have. This is NOT who I've grown up with!" I droned on and on. But  
despite my needless babbling, Sidney seemed to be taking what I said  
to heart. Well, it looked that way at least. She almost looked on the  
verge of tears. "Sidney," I started in a more comforting tone, "less  
than 2 hours ago I looked up to you. You are my idol. Are you really  
willing to give that up just to murder the helpless?"

Sidney was shaking uncontrollably. Her chin quivered and her eyes  
glistened as tears began building up in her eyes. The wall she had  
built was cracking. She was having a huge struggle within herself.  
Finally, she dropped her dagger and staggered backwards as if ashamed  
of herself. I slowly raised myself upright, with agonizing  
excruciating pain. I felt weightless. If my parents didn't pull up  
within a minute or two, I'd be dead. And I had come to terms that my  
being dead wasn't a bad thing. I was about to lie down and give up,  
possibly passing peacefully when Sidney began to speak.

"Tatum, I'm so sorry," she whispered, blanketed by the darkness of the  
night, huddled in a corner of the roof. "I couldn't control myself. I  
never would have thought it would come to this..." she began to weep  
bitter tears. She rushed to my side and hugged me tightly, which made  
me gasp in pain. Sidney jumped back at the noise. "Sorry," she  
whispered stroking her hair behind her ear. Easing her way through,  
she held me more gently this time. "I'll be here with you," she  
whispered into my ear, stroking my hair.

"Sidney," I whispered back.

"Yes?"

"Keep that promise. No more. And tell mom and dad I love them." She  
stopped stroking my hair at this. "I know it sounds really cliché, but  
I really am going to regret not making it for one last goodbye."

"No! You have every right to regret it. In fact, you have every right  
to be angry with me. But, I don't know if I can face them after this,"  
Sidney cried.

"You've got to!" I responded forcefully. "Promise me you'll tell them.  
Tell them it's not their fault. Promise me. And I don't expect you to  
inform them of your little mishap," I forced a small laugh.

"You make it sound so simple," she smiled pushing me back to observe  
me. "Fine, I promise," she confirmed pulling me back into her embrace.  
As I lay there in her grasp, finally feeling closure and peace, I let  
out a sigh and a smile, comforted by the thought that it was finally  
over. No more mass murderings would occur. My parents could live the  
remainder of their lives in peace.

"Can you keep a secret?" Sidney laughed slightly.

"Hmmm?" I hummed, barely intrigued.

Sidney placed her lips right next to my ear. "I've never been good at  
keeping promises!" she growled. Right after that sentence processed  
through my head, I felt an excruciating pain in my lower back as I let  
out a horrified grunt. Sidney pushed me down hard on the floor, stood  
up and stared down at me, holding the dagger she had dropped not  
any more than a minute ago.

"W-w-w-what?" I stuttered through chattering teeth.

"Didn't your parents ever tell you I was an actress in college?" she  
shrugged, wiping her blade clean of blood. She glanced up as the  
headlights of a car became stronger as it neared closer. She smiled  
sinisterly at me as I coughed up blood. She tricked me! She hadn't  
meant anything she had said. I had thought her kindness would shine  
through the evil that clouded it. My lecture had seemed to break that  
evil, but it had all been a ploy. She had mind fucked me! And that  
pissed me off. I didn't care who she used to be, but it's who she was  
now that had my blood boiling.

Sidney crouched down next to me and whispered, "I'm sorry about this.  
Really, I am, but the legend must live on!"

"You bitc-"

"Ah ah, wouldn't want that to be your last words would you?" she  
sneered.

"That's your motive?! The legend living on?" I gurgled.

"More or less, but that about sums it up!" she agreed. "But you, I'm  
afraid, don't get to hear the last of it. You haven't earned the  
privilege to hear the full motive. But your parents sure have." I  
glared austerely at her. She let out an evil little giggle at my  
expression, and then crouched down beside me. "Don't worry; Dewdrop and  
Miss Meteorologist Weathers will be well taken care of!" she threatened.

And with that Sidney ripped me up by the arm and flung me over the  
side of the house, sending me plummeting towards the concrete in front  
of our garage.

"Noooo!" I yelled, flailing towards the ground.

My parents' car was coming in at top speed, and I was falling right in  
their way. I knew what was about to happen, but I couldn't stop it.  
Their car broke my fall, hitting me square in the side. Before I knew  
what was happening, I was flying. For a second I thought I had died  
and was moving on, two bright balls of light guiding my way, when my  
flight came to a screeching halt as my back hit something firm yet  
flimsy, making a large cackling, crashing noise. I fell limply and  
awkwardly to a rough, hard surface and forced myself to open my barely  
moving eyelids.

I was on the concrete of the floor in front of the garage I had hit  
after the car had smashed into my ribs. The car wheels were less than  
a few feet from my face. Instantly upon my fall, they sped backwards  
and screeched to a halt more than thirty feet from where they had  
originally been.

I was beyond pain, entering a whole new world of pain, but it didn't  
last very long. I didn't weep, I didn't moan, I didn't scream. I just  
lay there limply like a rag doll. I heard a car door open, then  
another, and although it was all right there, it felt very distant,  
like watching a flashback or a movie. In my constricted view, I could  
see mom's black stiletto heels and her legs all the way up to her  
purple dress that hit right above the knees. I couldn't see her face,  
nor did I want to see her expression. She crumbled to the floor  
without warning. The last thing I heard was her long, horrified,  
shocked wailing as she came rushing towards me, dad following close  
behind. And although my eyes were wide open, the world fell dark. And  
although my ears were still perked, the world grew silent. The only  
sense I had left was the sense of feeling...touch.

My left hand, still wounded and wrapped, was taken into a smooth grip.  
My body was pulled up into a firm, warm embrace. My hair was stroked  
softly. Kisses on my forehead and hands told me that no matter what  
had happened in the past, I had always been loved. Tears dripped onto  
my face as my eyelids fluttered closed, and I could have sworn I felt  
the vibrations of their voices reaching my brain, slowly working its  
way to death. I used the rest of my energy, which was very scarce; to  
take my hand and squeeze my mother's very lightly. Taking my last  
queasy breath, I let my head droop onto my father's shoulders. I  
wanted to let them know I was ok. I wanted to reassure them that  
everything would be fine; I would be taken care of. I wanted to take  
back all the bad things I'd ever spoken to them. I wanted to comfort  
them and whisper one last I love you. I wanted to see their faces one  
last time, no matter how sorrowful they were. But most of all, I  
wanted to warn them of Sidney and her ridiculous schemes. But I  
couldn't. It didn't matter. I was already gone.


End file.
